


Trials and Triumphs of Unlabeled Couplings

by wordybabe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Puppy Love, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordybabe/pseuds/wordybabe
Summary: If you had told me six years ago that I would be sweating on top of an equally soaked Captain America, then I would seriously think you were a top notch lunatic.Steve Fucking Rogers, man.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Kudos: 12





	1. The Strains of Admiration

**Author's Note:**

> This work is completely fiction. It’s centered around an alternative universe where nobody had to die because of a selfish purple nut job.

Have you felt so unbelievably stiff that you felt a creaking in about all joints of your body? 

Working at STARK Laboratories is not an easy feat. Sharing a work space with the Avengers was surreal, but proved difficult at times. It’s hours of being plunged into research, experimentation and ogling a certain Super Soldier from the corner of your eye and trying your absolute best to not make a fool out of yourself. I can attest that it gets worse after he works out and he has to consult with Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark about details of missions. How could I even avoid that when I directly work over time with Iron Man and the Hulk? I mean it should be a crime to look _that_ good even if every inch of you is soaked with sweat. He should definitely be arrested from the way he never missed to greet me during office hours — on both good days and bad, with that stupid smile of his.

I feel as if all the joints in my body had gone brittle, all my bones into dust as Steve Rogers walked in this morning with a post-workout sheen to his structured facade. He wore the gray, Avengers Compound-issued sweatshirt whose logo stuck out in front, as well as the matching gray sweat pants that visibly weakened me. Alongside his gym bag, he had brought a few questions for Bruce and Tony from the briefing about a mission they were going to have a few weeks from now. I was in the same briefing but had been tuning out their plans to focus on the tactical equipment they might need improvement on. Them being the World's Greatest Heroes with the exception of a few who opted to go off on more personal missions. Concentrating on what Tony was discussing proved too difficult when I found myself being sat across a rather attentive Captain Rogers.

Other than copping an eyeful when he comes to visit, Steve and I had a good working relationship. There are quite a few moments when he comes over in times of running into modern troubles. Plenty of these troubles were how to operate things around the Avengers Compound. I have never been in his unit but the amount of modifications made in his system through my help may as well drawn a map around his place. 

Some visits I was more of a background character than a leading role in his consultations. If I'm being completely honest, I had dimmed my own lights at times to steer the attention away from me because as I'm well aware of how I hold decent conversations with people; Steve Rogers just renders me so speechless that the mere idea of having to be voluntarily lost in those ocean eyes was slightly terrifying.

I’d be completely manic to not shoot my shot. He had been single for a long while. We all strive to get rid of our loneliness, and boy, did we all get lonely sometimes. Days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, and all those fleeting moments were probably chock full of missed opportunities. It begs the question of whether or not I was sane enough to not even try. 

I had different theories as to why I could never even hold a remotely flirtatious conversation with the guy:

a) Mr. Righteous had little to no cracks in his facade, so he just appeared to be ethereal. It was as if a whole other wind was breathed into him when he was born and that could be a whole other level of intimidating;

b) From the title “Captain America”, he deserved to be revered in such an untouchable way. There was no one who could tell if he would even respond to flirtations without writing you up for a misdemeanor in the workplace _but I could probably risk the misdemeanor if it meant being a probable Mrs. Captain Rogers;_

c) and, Steve Grant Rogers could just be so stunning that my heart feels like a billion veins and arteries waiting to burst whenever we even come in close contact. Maybe, Steve Grant Rogers was just such a kind and amazing person that it was scary to think of possibly breaking whatever friendship we’ve built together. Although, we were never too close. Steve Grant Rogers was just so addictive that any actions against honing that closeness would be foul. I’ve genuinely treasured all the moments we’ve spent together, and if I get rejected; it would be catastrophic.

_Thump._

My face soured at the blueberry launched on my forehead. I looked up to see the devilish grin of Mr. Tony Stark who defiantly acted upon my silent wish to not goad the Captain to notice me even more so than he already has. Tony immediately hid his intentions behind his bold remarks to Steve about a party he was having tonight. Bruce and I shared a look before I saw him mouth an apology on behalf of Iron Ass’s attempt at subtle matchmaking.

"Cap, Pepper arranged a benefit tonight for Children's Hospital and they'd love to have your Star Spangled-Ass on show;" his smile was nothing short of devious for sure; "I personally think certain scientists would love good ol' Captain America."

“Are you coming to Tony’s party?” It was low, but I registered Steve’s voice with a flush on my cheeks. This kind of attention was never one I prepared for.

"Come on, it _is_ the weekend tomorrow," Tony pressed on further.

“I don’t know,” I glared at Tony’s proud smile and slight eyebrow raise at Bruce from across the room; “I don’t take lightly to being pelted with fleshy fruits.”

With an extended arm, Steve offers me a face towelette with a beaming smile. Thinking he’d leave me to the task, I thank him with a nod. His scent wafted through my atmosphere, filling my nose with his musk. A more dreadful predicament was realizing I didn't have a mirror anywhere. I was wiping myself off with Steve Rogers' face towelette which he had taken from the Compound Gym and I was doing this completely on a hunch as to where Tony's stupid blueberry landed. It was horrific.

"Let me," He proceeded onto wiping my forehead clean off the sweet remains. He was looking at me so intensely that I hadn’t had the chance to breathe; “If it makes you feel any better, I’m going to bring my shield. It should lessen the chances of being attacked by flying berries of any sort.”

I chuckle at the remark, but not too much as to give Tony a win. It was appalling how he basked in his triumphs with the apparent double-crossing of, none other than, Bruce Banner. Those little cheats! I was definitely going to get them after this.

"That would mean sticking by you most of the evening."

"Well, if that is what it takes to keep you blueberry-free, then so be it," the uncontested rebuttal sent butterflies to cocoon at the stomach.

"I guess I'll be seeing you tonight, Captain."

"Perfect."

It was a one-worded, disyllabic answer. It was short, but infinite. Plenty could be meant by "perfect" and I was convinced that it was all I was ever going to think about the entire day. What did the word "perfect" mean to me, to him, to what could be? I had a list of things to consider outside my job before going to parties, be like a love-sick teenager; I was only hooked on the fact that my crush had asked me to accompany him. I wasn't entirely sure how I was supposed to react but I bet my expression served a point straight into the Stark-Banner home court. They made faces akin to the one you make when you've proven your naysayers wrong. It was triumphant and uncharacteristically pleased by the results of what I knew was a ruse to bring Steve and I closer.

He stayed a little longer after that. I felt his presence over my shoulder at times, but I made haste. There deadlines I had to meet before tonight's benefit and I had to stay resilient in finishing my project. Distracting as it was to feel his eyes on mine, I knew I could not afford my pace to be faltered. I had every intention to attend the Stark Benefit (loosely based on the fact that _Steve Rogers_ had expected me to be there.)


	2. Mouth-breather Musings

I began to wonder when my heart would stop beating at this pace. I could feel it nearly popping out from my chest like a million tiny drummers marching forward on parade and a billion thunder strikes to the cavity of my heart as soon as I remember Steve. Here I was, prancing around my unit half naked as I figure out what to wear for the party. 

I overthought everything from the length, to the color and criticized as little of a detail as the hem on the bottom. Nothing seemed to scream; “I have had the biggest crush on you for a few years now and I am here to captivate you, Captain America.” I didn’t even think I owned anything of the sort. I owned a gown that I had worn more than my own lab coat, three dresses that also went around in circulation and one of Natasha’s gifts - a dress that felt too snug for my own familiarity and comfort. It was a beautiful red dress that wrapped around the best places it could wrap around. It ruched and was ruffled unlike any of the Plain Jane basic dresses that I owned. For a dress that went down slightly above the knee, it had the courtesy of being slit in the side — a staple for all evening-time hanky panky. Couple that with the fact that it was made from literal silk and satin, I could land anybody at that party with a look. Maybe getting laid was what I needed and not necessarily with Steve Rogers. I laughed at how ridiculous I was being. Who was I kidding? The Feminist in me could argue that I was dressing myself up for my personal liking but she also had the humility to let me admit that I was dressing myself up to beguile Mr. Perfectly-Groomed-Even-When-Absolutely-Beat — and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. 

I let my hair down but left it as it was. It had dried into my usual unruly waves from years of being kept in buns and ponytails. I wanted my look to scream; “I want your attention, Steve,” but I wanted it to whisper a little; “I’m not trying too hard because I’m a natural at this.” 

I was not, _in fact_ , a natural at this.

My look was luxury with minimal effort and even I was completely shocked at the transformation. I posed for the mirror a few times and adjusted the thin straps of my dress, paused then took a good look. I looked _fucking stunning_. From the roots on my head to the tips of my strappy heels, I looked very good. I should probably doll myself up more. 

I finished with a few touches of make up and blowing a kiss to myself. Goofy as I may be, my anxiety still ate at me as I ventured out the door; a palm to my face a quarter of a second later when I realized I got too busy dolling myself up that I completely forgot to ask how and where the benefit was being held. 

I called Bruce first. To my surprise, he didn’t pick up. I would’ve called Tony and Pepper but I knew they would be busy being hosts of the year. Natasha’s phone went to voicemail as well as Sam's. Bucky texted me earlier that he was not attending the benefit, and was probably asleep by now. Wanda’s was out of service coverage. Vision wouldn't pick his phone up unless Wanda called. Clint wasn’t at the party. Thor was up in space. For being the World’s Greatest Heroes, they were really bad at picking up distressed calls. 

The last contact on my phone that I was sure was invited to the party was the one I’ve only called five times. Steve’s contact stared me down for a few minutes. My whole body went into shakes. A puff of air exited from my body and I was convinced it had been my soul. This was ridiculous. It felt like high school all over again, having to call your crush in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason and becoming a breathy mess at the last second of realizing what the hell you were doing before hanging up. 

My finger ghosted on the screen and to my shock, lit up the seven letter word I was trying to avoid.

_Calling..._

A viper couldn’t hold a candle to how fast I struck the end call button. I doubt vipers could hold any candle for that matter. While on the subject of candles and vipers holding them, my thoughts came to a halt at the sound of my phone ringing. 

_Steve Rogers is calling_

I fell limp. I whisper-shouted a few profanities and picked it up with adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“Hey, you called,” Steve sounded as stunned as I am. His background seemed less noisy than a party should be. 

_Don’t be a mouth-breather._

“Captain America,” immediate regret flowed into me like a raging river but it was too late to turn back.

“Speaking,” he was amused. That charming, little shit.

_Do not be a mouth-breather._

“I didn’t get any other details for the party. Did Tony tell you where he was having it?” Good statement, simple but effective. Civil and decent.

“We can come together. I haven’t left my unit yet,” My heart fell out of my ass at his suggestion; “Unless, of course, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” _Do not be a fucking mouth-breather_ “Come on over, honey. Unit 014 _C_ you there,” What the absolute hell was that? Why do I do this to myself? I felt myself in a pool of embarrassment, drowning but accepting death.

“I'll be there in about ten minutes. See you, then,” there was a raspy chuckle at the end; “ _Sugar_."

_Click._

The sound reverberated through out ever nerve ending my body had produced. That call was insane. My responses were trash. I started out so awful,/got better and slam dunked with _honey_. I reminded myself for nothing. How big of a geek could I possibly be? I trudged up the steps back to my unit. My shaky hands poured myself a glass of water. I was an embarrassment but I wasn't going to be a dehydrated embarrassment. 

8:30 PM

Ten minutes shouldn't be _that_ long.

I twiddled my thumbs. I checked my phone. I fixed myself even more, but all the minutes felt like hours. Was the party still going on at this point? 

I took a peek at my kitchen clock.

8:37 PM

This was torture. This was probably a bad idea. I should've declined. Tony and Bruce is going to get it. Those two are -

My door bell goes off and I lose it.

_He's fucking early_

I raced to the front door, fixing myself in a span of seconds. I took a deep breath and let it be known that my last words would be;

"Absolutely, avoid being a fucking mouth-breather."


	3. The Potential Elevator Energy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I DID EDIT THIS CHAPTER TO EMBODY A WHOLE DIFFERENT IDEA PLEASE DONT SUE ME

His blonde locks ran through his hand like finely spun silk. No one could ever mistake it for another. His slumped shoulders made his tall frame a bit skewed. He heard the door creak open and immediately whips his head around, catching a glimpse of how anxious I've become. In his hand he clutched a small bouquet of daisies around baby's breaths. It almost looked too delicate against his fist. 

"Sugar."

There he goes again. Words too short to dissect. Simplicity at its finest. His body language looked a bit more timid than what I was used to. Steve was a walking paradox. He was both dominant and submissive. He was imposing yet understanding. He could pull helicopters out from the sky, and yet arrive at your doorstep with a sheepish smile and a delicate assortment of flowers; somewhat boyish in nature. 

I must have been staring for too long because he broke the silence with an evident blush to his cheeks; "I didn't know which ones you liked but I also didn't want to come here empty-handed."

"These are beautiful," I drawled on with eyes stuck to the flowers; "Come on in. Let me just put these in water before we go."

He dusted his shoes against the grain of the welcome mat. His eyes scanned the whole space. He stayed near the doorway, careful not to overstep his bounds and I immediately took notice of it. _What an absolute gentleman._ He was as dreamy as ever in his simple deep brown leather jacket and baby blue button-up shirt with the sleeves folded up to his elbows. He had khaki pants that paired well with his brown leather belt and beige suede dress shoes. It was minimal but it definitely brought out the best in him. Then again, he could stand there stark-naked and would look even more stunning as ever. 

I shut the faucet and beamed at what a pretty fit the flowers looked on my dining table. I felt eyes on me and felt my face heat up again. Steve was looking at me from across the door frame, waiting for the time to comment but he opted not to. I looked back at him with a thumbs up.

"Ready to go," I paused for effect; "Honey?"

He offers his arm and I entangle mine excitedly. We walk out the door to meet a beautiful motorcycle parked out on my sidewalk. It was sleek, classy yet completely badass at the same time. I've only ever heard about the famed vehicle but have never actually seen it up close.

Then as if on cue, I spiraled.

I have never even ridden a motorcycle before. We were probably due to go out into the city and that meant encountering a plethora of other vehicles that had more meta than we did. I had a slit running up mid-high and it meant a potential flashing of whatever was underneath this dress. It was going to be freezing. I don't even have the appropriate underwear for the occasion. I wasn't tall enough to ride this ride and it had me clutching Steve unconsciously.

"Ever gotten on one, Doll?"

"Haven’t had any chance to try."

There was an intensity to the way he looked at me. It was a sturdy look of reassurance. He didn't have to say much for me to feel safe, and that was the magic touch of Steve Grant Rogers.

The breath that I took felt so deep and relieving; "I trust you," I whispered with a tremble.

He brushes my hair back and I was frozen at how close our proximity has become. In all of the six years we’ve worked together, I have never felt such intimacy from Steve before. He always stood out as the Super soldier who saves the world from time-to-time. All serious business, not a dollop of romance in Captain America. It was a lot of ways different and unheard of. We weren’t close enough for me to pry into what his dating life could consist of. There was a complete notion that Steve's game was outdated from all the years spent in what Tony casually refers to as a “Capsicle” but the flowers, the escorting and the sensual way he put his spare helmet on me told a whole different story. He was flirty in all the best and respectful ways but I still couldn't fathom the idea of having Captain America flirt with me. 

As if I couldn't be any more wrong, Steve took me by the waist and helped me up onto the leather seat. My legs dangled off the machine all awkward and funny. My dress rode up a few inches and my thighs grew sticky under the exterior of the seat. The engine felt warm from when Steve had previously gotten off to pick me up. 

He takes my hand in his; "Hold onto me. Tight,” before climbing onto the bike himself. No wobble, no weird stumbling; it seemed like it was choreographed for him to look like sex on wheels.

I didn't know when I started to enjoy the ride but I found myself falling deeper into the newfound perspective you could get from a motorcycle ride with a person you're quite fond of. The buildings looked taller, the night breeze felt crisper and the people seemed more fascinated at how Steve and I looked. The tale of two riders in the night. Upon arriving at stop lights, I could make out the outline of Steve's muscular shoulders and breathe his cologne in deeply. I also took the time to adjust the grip if I felt that I was holding on too tightly. He would take his hand away from the handle for a moment to touch my hand and reassure me that we were both still alright. Let me tell you, it was the sweetest thing anyone could have ever experienced.

We arrived at this huge hotel. Its architecture was largely influenced by European royalty and it was weird how the roof deck strobed an array of lights. I imagined the Queen having an absolute rager up there and laughed. Steve smiled, examining me for a minute. I bet he was checking for nicks and ticks. 

“Did you enjoy it?” 

“Enjoy it,” I took an exaggeratedly deep breath; “Honey, I fell in love with it.”

“Well, come ride with me any day, Sugar. It’s always an open invitation to you,” Something was a little bit off with that statement. Double entendres slathered over filthily and it made me blush. Captain America making sexual innuendoes did not make any sense with my fantasy.

_Or, did it?_

With the distraction of being verbally sexed up by Steve, I completely forgot how the heels and my height could not contribute to me getting down. I also did not take the short dress and thong into account. I knew Steve was going to swoop in and help me, but here’s the thing; I was going to _flash_ Mr. Righteous one way or another. There was no ending where it didn’t involve that. My well-groomed “kitty” was going to be put on show.

“Let me help you down.”

“Wait, Steve,” I coughed to hide how hot my cheeks were getting; “I-I don’t need help...”

“Sugar, it’s a long way down,” his eyebrow raised at me. Was this guy oblivious?

I surrendered as I looked at how far the ground was and after calculating the probability of breaking my fucking ankle. Pussy be damned, I needed his help. I took my hundredth deep breath. I swung my leg across one side as fast as I could. 

News flash, that was a mistake.

“Woah,” goes Steve.

My butt slipped off of the leather seat and _of course_ ; as part of my shitty reflexes, my hands fly to his shoulders and I lock Steve in between my legs and his hands stick to my traitor of an ass. 

Crotch to crotch, heat to heat.

It was in all the ways very vulgar,

But in all the ways _very fucking hot_.

My cheeks burned so badly at the feel of his... hardness. His super soldier-sized hardness. He carefully lets me down, gaze searing into mine. There was a faint crack in his self-control when he trails his hand slowly at the expanse of my back as he gently let go of me. In turn, my hands cascaded down his chest sensually. We were in a cloudy haze, an unbreakable trance. It felt like we were the only ones on Earth. Just when I thought that encounter was done, he took the liberty of running his hand through my hair, falling sturdily at the back of my neck. This was a total show of the adrenaline pumping through us. My lips part at how hard it was to breathe. I was enthralled by his dominance. His breath was labored. Steve was as hot and bothered as I was. His tongue met his lips, trailing over a delectable sheen. Eyes locked on my lips, hands gripping me close, heat radiating off him and on me.

Closer.

Closer.

_Closer._

“Oh, my God,” A squeal immediately broke the moment and Steve was visibly pissed; “That’s Captain America, sweetie. Go ask him for a picture.” 

A teenage boy beside her looked exasperated, “Ma, they look like they’re having a good time. Let’s not bother them.” 

“It’s just one damn picture, Patrick. He’s used to that,” The mother waves us over. 

Steve furrows his brow and dives in for a kiss on the cheek instead before going on show. I didn’t know how I was going to recover from that. I still felt the phantom feel of his lips on mine. I still felt the heat on his body melting me with each centimeter apart gone. I felt him, _all_ of him, and it was some kind of sick validation to know that he was frustrated that we hadn’t gotten close enough.

Maybe being a super soldier meant having a personality switch that was easily accessible, because Steve went over there to share a short talk and had his photo taken.

“Is it always like that?”

“Worse,” he grumbles; “Sorry for leaving you for a bit. She wanted me to know about her son’s life journey.”

“Captain America is so spiteful.”

“No, Captain America is the world’s friend. Steve can be a bit-“ 

“Bitchy.”

He guffaws before offering his hand on the way inside the hotel. I guess the moment left before I even had the chance to say goodbye. 

Everything in the hotel felt expensive and luxurious. For the first time in a long time, I fit in quite well. It was a long way to the roof deck since there were 21 stories above us. Stark couldn’t afford a rush of paparazzi and fans, so he had a service elevator vacated to accommodate guests of the night. When Steve found out about this, his hand wandered from my hand, to my shoulders, to my back. It lingered there. There was a weight to his stare. I didn't think I could bear it.

"It's a long way up there," he says with eyes on the numbers.

"Quite," I look up at him and was surprised to see that he was already looking at me. He whips his head fast and his gaze lands on the speaker. It was playing a song I knew I'd heard before.

"Is this John Legend playing?" The question honestly stuns me; "Well, is it?"

My eyebrow raises to meet his; "How the hell do you know John Legend?"

"Judgmental much?" He sticks his tongue out; "Sam put me up on Spotting fly. That thing you put on your phone that plays any kind of music you could be interested in."

I snort at how confidently he answered; "A _spotting fly_?"

"Yes," his nose upturns to feign being a socialite snob; "I happen to like this song." 

"I cannot believe you figured the song out before I did!"

"Who could ever forget 'All for Me'?"

I lose it and laugh so hard that I wheeze; "That is not it, sir."

"Whatever the song may be," Steve offers a hand with the other to his back. He was asking me to dance. In an elevator. Chivalry wasn't dead after all. How tooth-rotting could this moment get?

I nod gently, "Who am I to deny such an amazing bike rider?" 

The cramped space transformed into my vision of weekends with Steve and his imaginary dome to lifestyle. I bet there would be lots of dancing, laughter and adventure with Steve. For a guy who's more than 90 years old, I don't think he's even seen the beauty the world holds. They were bred under the same bad the world was infested with and they soaked it up to save the rest of us. I wanted to hold him so close that the bad goes away. I wanted this moment to last a little longer because Steve was having so much fun with singing the lyrics wrong and twirling me around. There exists a limit in us all and I felt better knowing that this tiny break we were having was a way to extend his limit a bit longer. 

We swayed slow, our hearts beating with every instrumental beat. I don't think we both checked to see what floor we were on, and it became obvious that neither of us had wanted to reach the rooftop just yet, knowing the socialites and endless greetings we were going to give out.

The elevators open to reveal a scene anyone who has gone to a Tony Stark party would be familiar with; the Toast. We concealed ourselves at the end of the room, hands clasped together as we sifted through the size able crowd of investors. We didn't want our less than punctual attendance tear everyone's attention away from the inspiring words of Mr. Expensive Pants. Steve was brooding on my side. His grip on my waist tightened and I looked around to find eyes on me. To be honest, who wouldn't have eyes on me? I had Captain America's hand on my waist, my hair probably looked its messiest, and I had a dress that draped around me awkwardly as opposed to stunningly before we left the Compound. People were going to stare and they were going to speculate _hard._ Nobody stumbles in this late, looking all disheveled and assumes the purest intentions. No, they assume it's minutes of hot, unadulterated make out sessions in elevators. Perhaps not specifically, but you get the gist. I was salivating in the corner just thinking about such privilege.

As soon as the speech ends, Steve is pulled to the direction of CEOs and Company makers to greet them. I ventured to the bar, knowing one of my friends were bound to find me there. This is what I loved about our crew. We could be yards away from each other but there was a guarantee that we would find each other at the end of the night because we were always the last to leave the party. I sat at the bar stool and ordered a strawberry daiquiri. 

I wasn't necessarily opposed to the party scene but I do have some difficulty becoming part of it. I couldn't call myself an introvert, but I can't exactly be a raving extrovert either. I had a few choice friend groups and I did well at dinners, but I didn't have the charisma to start conversation or make the whole room explode in laughing fits, and Steve did just that from across the room. Chuckles of the elite around him, eyes all on him, the image of a dazed girl hanging on his arm moments earlier completely forgotten.

Everything was overwhelming me all at once. I down my drink as if it was nothing. I ask for a shot, or two and down that, too. I pull Nat to dance and we take over the dance floor. She was probably wondering why I was acting this way but I didn't care. This was the best diversion I could come up with, but on my peripherals stood, a hero who looked a bit cross at how crass my dance moves were beginning to become. I felt the weight of his stare, but the naughtier side of me kept goading him to snap. The minx inside of me knew she was going to get fucked into the mattress by the veteran tonight and not a moment longer. This bitch was adamant to get laid and was so far removed from reality that she had Steve on the cusp of putting her over his shoulder and leaving without sound judgment. I couldn't recognize myself for a long while. It was only when the crowd gathered around us that I felt laid bare, but that certainly did not stop the bad girl from shaking her hips to the beat of the music. Steve was flaming and I really wanted to stop, but I also had a goal tonight.

When the concentration of the crowd thinned and the drinks were being poured less, my adrenaline and courage to go wild went with the people who bid the Starks a good night. Steve has been sat on the couch nearest the dance floor, legs splayed lazily, face tense and biceps bulging. I plopped beside him, head facing towards the glittering ceiling. I took shallow breaths to catch my own, the sweat beginning to dry off of my skin. 

"Take a picture," I continue to speak through my ineffective breathing exercise; "It'll last longer."

I felt his palm paw at my thigh. It was a gesture that warns me of my words. This dominant air to Steve has gotten me sodden. I wasn't just hot and bothered - I was in flames. From the way he felt me up, he must've had an idea as to how I was reacting to everything that he has done tonight. He switched his personality so easily. Even as we danced so intimately in the elevator, a faint excitement made my panties damp. 

Our future plans was left etched at the back of my mind as the gang all filed as we all usually did, and as if it was rehearsed; they started grilling Steve for being late and arriving with tousled hair which Vision remarked as being uncharacteristic of Steve. He shrugs and tells everyone he's been trying a new look. Sam is the first to snort.

"Stop laughing," Steve cautions.

Bruce chuckles and Nat slaps his arm. Wanda giggles. I watch the scene unravel with a huge smile on my face.

"I'm trying a new look," Tony stands, arms at his sides and salutes Jim. A clear mocking of Steve's patriotic tendencies. 

On that note, everyone erupted in laughter. "Spotting flies", dance moves and critiques of Tony's slurred speech; one topic came after another, then it was officially an end of he night's festivities. Steve's hand discretely moved throughout the evening - a silent affirmation of what's to come. His actions made me wonder about when he stopped perceiving me as a colleague and started pursuing me as someone else.


	4. The Witching Hour Capacitance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was long overdue but writer's block keeps creeping up at me.

My skin dimpled at the feel of the fresh air. I've never felt such a cool breeze fill my lungs. Steve took his time on the way back. I guess he was as enthralled as I was. The skylight appeared to our left; the city beaming with different hues. It was all sorts of buildings; big and small, short and tall, cracked and newly painted. If you imagined hard enough, you could see their personalities shine based on their architecture. There were probably a million stories created inside those buildings - a billion possibilities held within walls and ceilings, a cess pool for hellos and goodbyes. It was a sight you could fall in love with. We both basked in the solace you would find in the dead of the night when most people retired to their homes. We were quite isolated on the path leading back to the Compound. I'd never seen anything more scenic. Afoot was a damp pavement that stretched for yards beyond recognition. A white haze faintly covered our lines of vision, trees shrouding to encapsulate us in looming darkness from how late it was getting. The road was eerily empty and I should've spiraled, but I didn't. I held onto Steve as instructed, my arms looping around his waist and my head occasionally landing on the large expanse of his back. On unseen curves and dips, I allowed myself to clutch onto him tighter. What strikes me the most about him is the way he embodies comfort. I've spoken about this quite often lay but I was true. Here I was, hung on his waist like a belt and he makes me feel as if it's okay to latch onto him a little greedier. Provisions, courtesy of this man, were made to reassure me that he would never let me down, hurt me or bring harm to me in any way. It's begun to make more sense as to why people love him so dearly - then and now.

We got through a few more meters of the fog before being face with the steel gates of the Compound. We did our biometrics as usual and had the pleasure of hearing the gates screech open. On some levels, people could associate our lifestyle as dystopian. You are chosen by a cooperative that is assigned per department. These departments have subgroups but seven of them stand as the There is a Lifestyle department: they spearhead the gym programs, food, nature projects and wellness centers around the 200-acre plot of land the Compound stood in, a Justice Department: they were a group of lawyers and linguists who were tasked with learning laws of all countries and nations, a Medical department, or Stitchers as we all fondly nicknamed them since they are the people who stitch everyone back together, a Sciences and Mathematics Department who worked towards scientific advancement and factors that we need in some missions, an Engineering and Architecture who create our spaces into what it is - units, labs and such, Business Management who deal with accounting and other money talks, Weaponry speaks for itself, and of course, The Avengers who run the game, and it's where Steve and I belong (although, it is still arguable if Steve and I belong _together_ ). Each department housed about 100 employees at the compound, each having a 2-story unit with a small backyard and garage to dwell in, to make memories in. I always found it fascinating. All these departments work together closely. It was a cohesive storm, neatly arranged in blocks assigned per department. I was fortunate to work closely enough with the Big Leagues and be assigned a unit closer in number. A unit we were seeing in our line of sight. 

My heart catapults against my sternum with an audible clang. Again, the feeling creeps up like a phantom. The removal of our helmets remind me of how dangerously close our heads were. Eyes shifting towards the door, my next move stops me in my own tracks.

"You don't seem drunk enough for the weekend, why don't you come on in?" He pauses and I dread my existence, completely sobering up in the process; "I mean, of course, unless you're not too busy and you have nothing else to do."

"The night is still young," Steve grabs ahold of my upper thigh; "We need to get you down from here first."

His eyes were breathtaking, his gaze glazed over. I move my leg over slower. He hasn't moved his hand an inch. His fingertips trapped in between my thighs, searing me and making my heart skip a beat. Adjusting his hands, he grabs ahold of my waist before urging me to pull myself forward and lean on him. My hands once more find his shoulders, but this time I don't let go. I just slide down carefully, eyes glued to his chest because a part of me shied away from his baby blues. I didn't need to see them for me to feel the wilderness inside them. My toes kiss the ground. Steve relents. He makes it seem like he wanted to hold onto me like how I held onto him; without the intent of letting go, for protection against what may lurk on the sidelines.

All the air has run out of my lungs. Here we stood, millimeters apart; compelled to look up and risk getting lost in his eyes. I had every intention to provide space in between us, but something held me back. It all led up to this moment. Well, at least I felt like it did. We have been at the slowest race to figure out our feelings for each other. Admittedly, I was beginning to get sick of missing opportunities and I didn't want to waste this one anymore. In hindsight, I don't even know what I want out of this. I just knew that the alcohol in my system endorsed for something to happen.

"We'd better get inside," heated palms slide their way down my arms; "You're absolutely freezing."

"You would know a thing or two about that."

There goes his pearly whites again, shining for the world to be in awe of. He throws his head back like a little kid, laughing a little louder than usual.

We walked our way up the panel on the side of my door. It was a metal sheet that lit up as soon as you set off the censor under my welcome mat that read _"Welcome Back"_ instead of _"Welcome Home"_ , since it didn't feel like that most of the time. Living alone and being career-driven did get lonely at times, especially when I realize that I have gobbled up half a regular-sized pizza by myself with reruns playing in the background to fill the radio silence plaguing my unit. This metal sheet held my biometrics and the biometrics of people I could grant access to if need be. I do know a few people who has given access to their boyfriends, girlfriends and their spouses. I _do not_ have any of those. I don't even own a damn pet. So for now, my eyes and fingertips hold the key to my own living space.

It's always a different feeling when I bring people around here. I absolutely hated the humdrum home I've been occupying for the past few years, but introducing them to my own space made me oddly giddy and unsurprisingly nervous. Exposing their persons to my abode had intimate implications. I was welcoming them because I had every intention to hone a connection with them. It was a step that always made me feel a degree of vulnerability, but I never rushed towards having someone infiltrating my unit. At least, not like how I'm rushing to get Steve Grant Rogers inside my home when I know damn well that I lacked a plan. But there I was, slightly inhibited and a whole lot cheekier than I expected myself to be around him. It was all very confusing how I was both very relaxed and very tensed at the same time.

”Honey, I’m home,” he quotes.

I chuckle and offer some refreshments, leaving him to take my unit in longer than he did earlier in the night. He asks for a beer. I nod and go straight to my fridge. Two beers left frosty and ready to be ingested. He instantly made himself at home with his head diving into the soft cushions of my couch. It was at this point when I started asking myself about whether Steve did this a lot. How many houses has he been in and how many of those invitations involve alcohol? Did he stay the night? Was he a regular host of _adult_ sleepovers? All these questions circle when I feel eyes trailing up and down my body from behind. Steve found himself sitting on one of the barstools of my kitchen island. 

”Beer, ice cold,” I slid him the drink like how you would in Wild West films. He, of course, catches it immediately and chugs the beverage.

“It would be a crime to serve it any other way,” the mildly long pause implied that his mind wandered off somewhere; “Your unit is adorable.”

My head cranes in confusion and I lean onto the marble counter, sipping my beer; “I never thought I’d live to hear Captain America call my drab home adorable.”

”Captain America has an eye for that.”

”Maybe things would’ve gotten a lot less chilly if you stuck to interior designing.”

”Had a lot of practice when Peggy and I were planning to have our own house,” something bitter lingered in between the lines, “It wasn’t as cute as this.” 

”I beg to differ.” 

Pause.

Steve gets up from the stool and I panic. He saunters off to the living room, and just... looked around. He took his time with inspecting my collection of music records and vintage movie posters hanging off the wall. Of all the people who came, Steve was probably the only one who treated my unit like an art gallery. His steps were calculated from the couch to the television. He digresses and finds himself in front of photos.

”That’s my family,” I spoke up without him asking, sitting on the couch and signaling him to do the same. He follows suit. I didn’t know if it was appropriate, but he had stared at the photo so long that I couldn’t leave him without a backstory. It was a photo of me alongside five other kids in front of a sizable house. Four boys and a girl. 

”Those are my brothers and sisters by choice,” We were arranged by height but jokingly had pointed out that mischief came in smaller packages. I was always teased for my inventions and how it caused way too much trouble in the house, but they loved it all the same; “The eldest one is Ty. He was mom and dad’s miracle baby. It was a rough time getting him out but now, he works at the Wallstreet Journal and has a beautiful family of his own. Aimee was adopted two years after Ty. They were a year apart. She was in the system for most of her life, broken family and all that. She’s a social worker and is regarded as the best one in her field. Ethan and Earl actually came from the same orphanage. They were adopted a year after Aims, both insisting that they came as a package. They started a law firm at the same time I got in here. Dexter kept getting into trouble after constantly being transferred home-to-home. They said that he adjusted the hardest since he was convinced the house was just another freak show foster home. He’s built a lot of sturdy buildings after he graduated at the top of his class. He, Ethan and Earl are months apart so we always called them the Almost Triplets. We see each other for birthdays and weddings. I love those guys to pieces.”

”And, you?” He asked with interest.

Something incomprehensible tickled the back of my throat. I haven’t visited that memory in a long time. I wasn’t sure tonight was the night to unload all my childhood insecurities; “I was brought by a stork and dropped on mom and dad’s doorstep.”

Steve holds back, smiling, hand atop mine. Polite as ever. He sets the photo back down and wanders off into my movie collection. I sit on the couch and observe him finger the titles. I think, when you live alone, it becomes mandatory to find an obsession that is outside your work zone. Mine were movies. I was subscribed to a bunch of streaming services. I still had a DVR and a CD player. I watched a movie while working at home, while cooking, getting ready for the day and at the end of each day. I was ready to pop a movie in anytime. Other than finding obsessions, I think it’s also part of human nature to endorse our passions, dreams and obsessions unto other people - whether for good or bad. We, as people, glow and bask in the joy of projecting ourselves on other people. It was as simple as that.

”Which one’s your favorite?” He asks while shuffling through my Blu-ray CDs.

”That’s like asking me if I prefer to breathe or digest my food. I can’t pick a favorite because all of them is completely necessary,” I run my sentence; “Except the movies that are meant for hormone-crazy tweens. They’re always a shot in the dark.”

”Hey,” Steve fakes being offended; ”I happen to enjoy this generation’s romance films.”

”I would understand that if the kids weren’t in high school and their biggest moral dilemma is whether they’d get asked to prom or not.” 

”Bet you’re just bitter because you never got to go to prom,” his nose upturns and he sticks his tongue out. I loved this side of Steve. He was the right amount of childish. 

”That’s where you’re wrong, Captain. I was a huge hit at proms for my dance moves.” I got on top of wooden coffee table, kicked the things off of it and danced goofily. No music, no hesitation. He was laughing his ass off at the other side of the room in full view of my flailing limbs.

The night went on like that. We played music in the background through my vintage record player that I was sure didn’t work but Steve fiddled with it until it did, the faint voice of Ella Fitzgerald in the background while we jumped from topic to topic and drank glasses of wine that never ran out.

”...That’s why I would never mess with toaster,” At this junction, we were both laying on the floor, heads a breadth away from each other; “You’d think with all of Stark’s weaponry that he’d invent something safer.”

”Or we just ban bread all together.”

”What would the birds eat on afternoons?”

”Steve, they can eat bird seeds,” I faced him with a sour look; “because, they’re fucking birds?”

He faces me as well. We were closer than ever and he’s leaning in even more. I could feel my heart in my throat; “Don’t come near me...”

He stops; “Why not?”

”Because I don’t think I can hold back if you’re near enough.”

”Near enough to what,” Steve nose touches mine. It was a challenge.

I swallow my spit thickly, leaving my mouth dry. I open it slightly, small breaths fanning over his lips;

“Steve —“ 


End file.
